Author's Notes:

ATTENTION NEW READERS:
Do not read this chapter if you do not like spoilers, I did this in accordance with a type of writing I once learned here in New Mexico. Also, the first 10 or so chapters were never edited.

In order to understand what is going on I strongly advise you to visit my FA (Furaffinity) account (same user name) to see the MAP and pictures of the characters. It is against the rules here to post the links because of "nudity."

An old man stood hunched over and leaning heavily on the solid stone railing of the palace balcony, his face was aged and worn with the passage of time, scars covered his face and hands from a hard life and many hard won battles. His long white hair and beard moved in the breeze as his eyes followed the last of the river ships as they docked for the night, the distant temple on the far side of the riverbank framed the horizon well as the sky darkened and multiple hues of amber, orange, red and a myriad of other colors burned across the sky as the sun slowly set.

It had been so long ago that he had come to this land purely by chance and quite unintentionally at that but it had not been an unwelcome occurrence. So long ago now... His eyes traced over the distant streets as oil lamps flickered to life in the windows of the stone and adobe buildings. This city was so different from when he had first laid eyes on it: a ruined shell plagued by sickness, corruption and disease. Now the mighty, gleaming city stood as the capital of an empire.

All comes with a price however, blood had flowed more freely than the waters of the Thriti River and bathed the surrounding lands with its red hue as nations and empires now relegated to historical archives had fought to the death in a deadly contest of wills. An immense price had been paid by all sides but the wars had ended long ago and now the lands knew peace, even the tumultuous Western Edge.

The wind whipped for a moment blowing his robes around slightly before an old, bony hand pushed them back into place again. Despite his age any who looked upon him would know who he was immediately even without the royal garb he so rarely wore and cared for even less: he was a monarch.

Others however would always remember him for a title he held for the longest time, the title he bore when the wars all began. He may be a king but the people would remember him always as: The Zebrican Warlord.